The sun set on a dreadful Friday and Oswald couldn’t have
been more grateful. In its place was a beautiful Saturday morning, complete
with sleeping until noon and all the weed he could smoke in one sitting. He
still hadn’t decided whether or not he wanted to torch the C- laden paper. He
figured maybe he should’ve dragged his little ass out of bed to make those
necessary corrections. Then again, correcting things never helped him in the
past. Those C’s still gazed into his soul every time he laid eyes on them.
Perhaps a nice walk in the afternoon sunshine would do him a few favors here
and there.
MP3 player? Check. Ready roll? Check. Zippo? Double check,
motherfucker. He certainly wouldn’t have accepted another book of matches from
Antero no matter how desperately he needed them. Once the trench coat was on
and “Lonesome Town
The streets were nearly empty at this time of day. Normally
people would be partying it up on a Saturday. Either that or Oswald was just as
ignorant of other people as they were of him. As soon as those negative, lonely
thoughts crept in his mind, he pulled out his ready roll. Even with his Zippo
clearly in the palm of his fucking hand, he could hear a familiar voice from
behind asking him if he needed a light. “Oh no….oh hell no…” the dwarf moaned
while shaking his head.
He pulled off the headsets and turned around to see Antero
Magnus holding a book of matches. “Well, it’s Groundhog Day…again,” joked the
Incel.
“You motherfucker!” shouted Oswald. “Give me one good reason
why I shouldn’t punch you in the dick right now! You trying to get me in
trouble or some shit?! You knew what you were doing when you gave me that gift
card, you sick prick!”
“You’re right!” retorted Antero as he leaned down to meet
Oswald’s eyes. “I knew exactly what I was doing. I was trying to teach you a
lesson. You didn’t even need an ass-load of tuition money to learn that.”
“You ain’t helping your case, buddy! I’ve still got one more
punch in me and it’s aimed at your….”
“Listen to me, damn it!” snapped Antero. “I know you’re
upset and you damn well should be. Those girls who hang out at Mickey D’s are
underage, yes, they are. They’re young, naïve, immature…and yet they’re the
only girls in this world who find us attractive.” Oswald’s fighting stance
eased up at that statement. “Think about this for a minute. Our one safe haven
for finding love and the government outlaws it. Tell me again how everything’s
not stacked against us.”
“So you’re mad because you can’t fuck little girls?”
Antero stood up and sighed. “Obviously, I’m not getting
through to you. Take a walk with me for a minute. I’ve got something to show
you.”
“Let me guess: you’re going to introduce me to your dead
Uncle Tuomas? Yeah, that’s right. I almost got sent to jail over what you put
me through. The cop who picked me up told me all about your Uncle Tuomas! I bet
you’ve got an Aunt Floor Jansen and a Grandma Anette Olzon too!”
Antero chuckled, “I never get tired of hearing those
Nightwish jokes. But yes, it’s true: I’m of Finnish descent and my Uncle Tuomas
is dead as a doornail. But I’m willing to bet you anything the cop only gave
you the Cliff’s Notes version of what happened. Cliff’s Notes are good, but not
in a college setting where C-‘s are staring you in the face with a murderous
grin. Come with me. Let me set you straight.”
From there the two of them had a brief walk to the local
cemetery. Oswald never let Antero out of his sight in case the sly bastard had
a knife he couldn’t wait to coat with midget blood. For the most part, the
incel leader seemed sincere in his gestures. And then shit got real when the
two of them approached Tuomas Magnus’s grave. The poor guy died young, as was
the case of a lot of suicide victims. The cold hard fact wasn’t lost on Antero
when he removed his sunglasses and gazed down at the grave with sadness etched
in his features.
“Oswald, I want you to pay close attention to something I’m
about to point out to you.” The incel pointed at various graves and said,
“Bouquet of roses” to each of them. “Now I want you to take a look at Tuomas’s
grave and tell me what you see.”
“…No roses.”
“That’s right, Oswald. Nobody bothered to leave him one
single rose. Not my deadbeat dad. Not my bitch ass mom. Not anybody in the
community, in fact. They all gave up on him. They bought into the rape charge
bullshit like it was the word of god. The police will tell you that they had
more than enough evidence to press charges. Then again, the police have never
been trustworthy to begin with. They can delete body camera footage at the drop
of a hat. They can beat and shoot anybody they damn well please and get a paid
vacation for it. Uncle Tuomas was just another victim of this unjust system.
One little girl cried rape and now everybody descended upon him with pitchforks
and torches.”
Oswald sighed, hung his head, and pinched the bridge of his
nose. “Look, I get how fucked up false rape accusations can be, but what does
your dead uncle have to do with me?”
Physically leveling with his “friend” yet again, Antero
said, “Well, you’ve seen the lack of roses on Tuomas’s grave. Tell me: who’s
going to leave roses on your grave when you die?” Oswald’s face grew solemn.
“I’d leave them, but I might not be around for much longer if this police
investigation keeps up. How long do you think you have left on this earth,
Oswald, before the Chads and Stacys cripple you to death? Three years? Maybe
four? You’re a young man. Young men with English degrees don’t do well in this
piss-poor economy. The only other option you’d have left is to marry a woman
with money. The only question is…who’s going to want to blow their trust fund
on you, Oswald?”
Wiping a solitary tear from his eye, Oswald mustered up, “I
have a few friends…”
“A few? I’m sorry, Oswald, but a few doesn’t make up an
entire funeral congregation. You’re lonely and you don’t want to admit it. You
have nobody you can turn to in this world. Not your teachers, not your
so-called friends who’ll backstab you in a heartbeat…not even your dead
parents.”
The dwarf gazed up at Antero with tears pooling in his eyes.
“Is my Face Book profile that obvious?”
“More obvious than an anvil falling out of the sky, my
friend.” Just as Oswald was about to burst into an ugly sob, Antero held his
shoulders and said, “It’s true. I know all about your parents’ deaths. I’ll
never forget that angry rant you posted. Your mom and dad were killed by a drunk
driver. But instead of giving that Night Train-drinking bastard lethal
injection, the judge gave him a few years at most because of his sudden love
for Jesus Christ. The cops can arrest us anytime they want. But what if we just
made up the Jesus Christ excuse once the heat got too hot? Together, we can
change the world. Together, we can show the Chads and Stacys that they don’t
run shit anymore.”
Antero extended his hand to shake and all Oswald could do
was stare at it with tears falling from his face. He then slapped the hand away
and hugged his newfound friend around the neck. The incel leader awkwardly
hugged him back and allowed the dwarf to cry on his shoulder.
“Let it all out, little guy. Let it all out.
Incelbordination is here for you. The cops don’t give a shit about you. The
Stacys don’t give a shit about you. But I do. Come join us for a support
session. You can talk all about your feelings and eat fast food until your
belly explodes. Maybe you can smoke that joint and get hungry for some more food.
A Quarter Pounder with Cheese won’t judge you.”
Oswald broke his embrace and wiped his tears on his trench
coat sleeve. Nodding, he said, “Count me in, Antero. Don’t leave me out here
with these normies.”
“I knew you’d see the light one of these days, my friend. It
was a foregone conclusion since the day you were born into this fucked up
world.”
